


The Dapple Flows into the Dawl

by greerwatson



Category: Lud-In-The-Mist - Hope Mirrlees
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: A year later, Master Nathaniel once again holds a springtime party for his friends.





	The Dapple Flows into the Dawl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moon-custafer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=moon-custafer).



When Master Nathaniel returned from beyond the Debatable Hills, he was, perversely, the only member of the Senate not to partake of fairy fruit for dessert at the annual banquet.  This was, of course, because he had been declared to be legally dead—which was swiftly reversed, but (the law taking its course slowly) not before his fellows had partaken.  He and Dame Marigold therefore ate their own midwinter feast at home, along with Prunella and Ranulph; and, as Moonlove Honeysuckle had insisted to her father, the cure to fairy fruit indeed proved to be more of the same.  Yet, at the same time, one could, if one wished, find truth in the words of Endymion Leer:  that, given a healthy mind in a healthy body, no poison could be enough to undermine such a constitution.  Not that fairy fruit was poison, of course; no one in Lud would presume any longer to suggest such a thing.  Nor, it must be added, was it any longer deemed silk tufftaffety or figured mohair.  Once Master Nathaniel was restored to his old position as Mayor and _ex officio_ president of the Senate, the first law passed in the new year rescinded the ban on fairy fruit.  Thus began the trade which was, in time, to prove so profitable to Dorimare.

Yet, although Duke Aubrey’s fairy army brought with them in their gold-wrought coffers sufficient fruit for every household in Lud-in-the-Mist, Lud is no more than the port city and capital of Dorimare.  There is much hinterland to that country, not all lying along the route taken by the Fairies.  It is fair to say that fennel was hung over many a door, even in Lud itself. Old habits die hard.  Furthermore, those who ate only a modicum of fruit now and then did not drift into dream or speak in verse—well, not unless they had been inclined that way heretofore.  Ranulph, in other words, remained as sensitive and fanciful as he had been in childhood.  Prunella, on the other hand, recovered much of the pert common sense she had inherited from her mother; and Dame Marigold did not stint her sharp tongue when her husband indulged his queer fancies instead of paying attention to matters she considered important to the household.  When speaking to her friends, though, she took to herself their praise of his courage in fetching Ranulph back from Fairyland, and their compliments on the growing prosperity of the good citizens of Dorimare under his Mayoralty.  In which respect, it should be mentioned that her brother Polydore never did wholly accept his displacement upon Master Nathaniel’s return, nor did he hesitate to criticize the changes in Lud-in-the-Mist.  Indeed, there were even rumours—which Dame Marigold (who had not been there) always denied—that, at the banquet in the Senate, he had merely pushed his dessert around the bowl to hide the fruit under the custard and cream.  Certainly, _his_ character remained quite unaltered.

If the first spring after the gates were opened to Fairyland was a time of transition, by the following year things were beginning to settle into a new normality.  The Chanticleers decided, therefore, to return to their custom of celebrating with a party; and Master Nathaniel duly sent out the traditional invitation to “come and meet a Moongrass cheese”.  This came from the Jellygreens’ farm, wrapped in straw in the bottom of a cart, was taken in through the kitchen, unwrapped and wiped, and given pride of place on the board.  After the supper of fancifully-named dishes, the cry went up, “To the King of Moongrass cheeses!” and, as two years before, Master Nathaniel seized a knife.  This time, though, there was no untimely, unseemly interruption.  Ranulph sat quiet in a seat at the side of the table, and did not rise to beg his father to spare the cheese.  Indeed, he appeared as eager as the rest of the company.  A fine large wedge was duly cut and then pared into delicate slices.  These were laid on an antique plate inherited from old Josiah’s grandfather, which passed from guest to guest.  Along the linen were baskets of delicate biscuits known as _Lover’s Lace_ , flavoured with sesame and thyme.  After the rich repast, most helped themselves rather more than they should.

By the time most guests finally took their leave, Ranulph had long since been shooed to bed.  Dame Marigold firmly sent a sleepy-eyed Prunella upstairs, before saying that she herself wished to seek repose.  Yet Master Ambrose Honeysuckle lingered.  His old friend looked at him with an upraised, quizzical eyebrow.

Master Ambrose flushed a little and said, “A fine cheese, Nat.”

“Would you like another sip of wild thyme gin?”

Gratefully, Master Ambrose nodded; and the two of them went into the study, taking the bottle with them.

“So, did you want to talk?” said Master Nathaniel when the two of them were seated, filled glasses in hand.

“It has been an odd time,” said Master Ambrose.  “I don’t say that times are worse now; and indeed they may well be better.  For some, anyway.  What is certain is that things are different.  There are times when I long for the old days.”

Master Nathaniel smiled wryly.  “Such a short time ago to be ‘the old days’.”

“In some ways, things have not changed all that much.” Master Ambrose sounded pensive.  “The ships come in; the warehouses are full; the markets sell goods at a fine profit.”  He smiled a little.  “Our wives still embroider and play the spinet; our daughters still go to … well, a new Academy with another dame, but they learn the same lessons.  Yet the world _feels_ different.  Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Master Nathaniel, carefully.  “The sky seems brighter, somehow; the music has … more notes to it, even when played on the same instrument.  It is as though we have come out of a long winter into the world’s new spring, the seasons turned….”  He shook his head, ruefully.  “Am I talking of a centuries-long winter of the soul?  It sounds so poetic.”

“Oh, you always had an odd streak, Nat,” said Master Ambrose fondly.

“Well, if I may continue in the same vein,” said Master Nathaniel, “if we now _know_ that the Dapple flows into the Dawl in a way that we never quite grasped before, then we should not look askance at a trifle of turbulence in the water.  Instead, we should remember that the Dapple is a river familiar to us all, in which we fished when we were boys.  If, today, it brings us fruit instead of fish, it is still our own dear Dapple.  We simply know it better than we did before.  And today, from its fruit, we know _ourselves_ better than we did.  That is, I should say, no ill thing.  What do you say, Brosie?”

Master Ambrose silently raised his glass in toast.


End file.
